Various and Sundry
by oldandnewfirm
Summary: A collection of all my Kim Possible one shots that aren't large enough to warrant their own stories. Various themes/ratings within. Stories will primarily be Drakken/Shego.
1. It's Not the End of the World?

**Title:** It's Not the End of the World?  
**Characters/Pairing:** Drakken/Shego  
**Rating:** PG  
**Summary:** Inspired by the FYCD prompt "You are dropped with a nuclear bomb. How do you act before you die?" Only I missed the "die" part and Drakken and Shego survive this, sooo…yeah.

* * *

The last cryo-pod receded into its bay with a long, hydraulic hiss. The lights and dials on its control panel came to life, each of them blinking and whirring as the screen above them began spitting out a stream of diagnostic information that probably meant something to Drakken but was cuneiform to her. It didn't matter. The only thing she had to worry about, he'd told her, was the big light at the top of the panel. _Green is good, red is dead._Well, not really, but it would be if the pod wasn't removed from the bay before its occupant began to suffocate.

One by one, the lights and dials steadied. The lines of data on the screen petered out, signaling that the machine had reached the end of its diagnostic. Her fingers curled in and out of a fist, her Glow at the ready beneath her skin. The bay was supposed to auto-eject the pod if the initialization process failed, but she'd been burned— both literally and figuratively— by Drakken's inventions too many times to have faith in that.

The big light, which had remained solid yellow throughout the diagnostic, flashed for a few seconds before turning green, heralded by the deep whir of the bay's generator coming online. A single message appeared on the screen now: Cryo-Sleep Successfully Engaged. Entering Standby Mode.

Shego exhaled slowly and let her hand fall to her side as the knots in her stomach slackened. There were four green lights now, part of a row of seven that occupied almost the entire wall of the narrow room. When she touched the doors of the closest bays, their power was a faint, almost static-y thrum against her fingertips.

"Sweet dreams, twerps," she murmured.

There was no answer, of course. Might never be one again. She swallowed thickly and squeezed her eyes shut against a wave of dizziness, then pressed her forehead against the nearest bay to steady herself. After a moment she peeked up to see if the Doc might have wandered in from the bridge, but the hallway was dim and quiet.

When she stopped feeling like she was a breath away from crumpling to the floor, she straightened and smoothed back her hair. She cast one more glance over the row of bays; her eyes lingered on one of the empty ones before she shook her head, then left.

She arrived at the bridge to find it dark, with no sign of Dr. D. Frowning, she stepped further into the room. The emergency lights cast a red glow over the ship's wall-to-wall control console. Everything _seemed _to be working. She squinted at the various buttons and toggles, then realized that the bridge lights had simply been switched off. As she reached down, a voice to her side said, "Don't."

She jerked and her head spun to the right. Dr. D was slumped in one of the bridge's tall rolling chairs, his head resting listlessly on the chair back. No wonder she hadn't seen him. He was practically a part of the furniture.

"I can hardly see anything," she said.

He stretched his arms out and spread his hands wide before the ship's viewport. "The show's right here."

The Earth filled the view from all sides of the bridge. Hundreds of tiny lights streamed over it like comets, following the earth's curve in either direction. _They're beautiful, _she thought, in the same breath as, _It's really happening. It really, really is._

"I hope he survives," Drakken said, apropos of nothing. Shego blinked at him, uncomprehending. "Your brother."

The dull throb in her head that hadn't left her since the cryo-bay turned into a roar. "I don't. He's an idiot."

"All the same, I hope he does."

"You wouldn't have to hope if he'd just come on the goddamn ship."

Drakken stood, then retrieved a second chair and rolled it to Shego's side. He rested his hand on her shoulder for a heartbeat before returning to his own seat.

She didn't sit so much as her legs buckled, as though her body had grown so rigid and heavy that they could no longer bear her weight. She joined Drakken in staring at the Earth, at the lazy cloud banks drifting over its still blue surface, heedless of the horrors about to rain on them from atmosphere.

"Maybe it's our fault too," she said. She wasn't speaking to Drakken anymore; her voice was so slight that she wasn't even sure she'd spoken aloud. "Maybe we should all be down there. Team Go, together one last time, going out the way we came in: on fire and screaming."

The lights were starting to weave back towards the earth. Their trails lingered for a moment above the clouds before dying out.

Nausea soured her throat; she bowed her head and buried her face in her hands. She felt a touch on her shoulder once more that transitioned to an arm around her back. Drakken's lips brushed her temple, and his warm, solid weight anchored her against the surge of grief and doubt threatening to drag her away.

"You should get in your pod," Drakken said.

She didn't know how much time had passed. She spread her fingers to look out of the viewport, only to see that Drakken had activated the ship's shielding. He flashed her a hollow smile; the control console's faint lights caught the tears in his eyes before he drew away, giving her room to stand.

But she didn't move. Instead, she looked him over as much as the lighting would allow. Everything about him, from his expression to his posture, seemed deflated. Even his worst low points had never looked like this.

"No," she said, finally.

He frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I'm staying out here. Staying up. Whatever you want to call it."

"It's a year, Shego. And you're the one always going on about how much you hate sharing close quarters—"

"Dr. D, you couldn't even look after a poodle. If you think I'm going to commit _myself_ to your care for a year, you really are nuts."

"Now that's not fair!" he began, but she headed him off with a raised finger.

"I'm staying out here. End of discussion."

She gave him a look, and he glared at her for several seconds before understanding bloomed on his features then transitioned into weary gratitude.

"I see," he said. "Well, if you're determined."

She nodded slightly, then turned to the viewport and the smooth, matte back of its shielding, trying and failing not to imagine what the view beyond it looked like now.

"I should show you how everything works, then," Drakken said, startling her. He was staring at his hands, which rested limply on the control console. "What you need to know to monitor the pods, that sort of thing."

The queasy feeling came back. "Right now, Dr. D, I think I just want to sit here for a while."

"Of course."

There was an invitation in his eyes, one she was too exhausted to refuse. She scooted her chair closer to his and rested her head against his shoulder, uncaring of the ache in her side the awkward angle produced. His arm scooped around her once more, drawing her closer.

"Here we are," she said. "The last of us."

"We'll find out soon enough," he murmured.

Then they lapsed into silence, their thoughts a thousand miles below.


	2. Bad Dog

**Title:** Bad Dog  
**Characters/Pairing:** Drakken, Shego  
**Rating:** PG  
**Summary:** Inspired by the FYCD prompt "Reach into the nearest drawer/box/laundry/basket/etc. and pull out the first thing you grasp." Write something involving that thing.

* * *

One morning, Drakken stepped into his lab to find a pajama-clad Shego on her elbows and knees before his Universal De-Atomizing Ray, peering beneath it and muttering to herself. In one hand she held a crooked length of wire that might have been a hanger in a previous life, but was now being used to sweep under the De-Atomizer while she bared her teeth and snarled.

"Give it up you little runt," she said, punctuated by a vicious swipe of the wire. It hit one of the De-Atomizer's legs with a sharp clang, and as the echo died he heard a familiar yelp from beneath the ray.

His eyes widened and he rushed forward. "Shego, stop! What are you doing?"

She rose so fast that she slammed her head on the De-Atomizer's base. Shego didn't swear often but she did then, in a violent burst that brought him to a halt well outside of her literal and metaphorical firing range.

"Shego, you know how I feel about profanity…"

He trailed off because Shego was giving him a look capable of doing some De-Atomizing on its own. He cleared his throat and started to retreat a few more paces until he heard a small, snuffling noise from under the De-Atomizer and he recalled why he'd run over in the first place.

"What are you doing to Commodore Puddles?" he asked.

"Your stupid dog grabbed something," she said, glaring in what he assumed was Commodore Puddles' general direction. "And he won't give it back."

"Well that's no reason to hit him!"

"I'm not _trying _to hit him, I'm trying to scare him out so I can get my damned—!"

Her mouth snapped shut and she frowned. "It doesn't matter. Look, just…go do whatever. Commodore Puddles will be fine as _soon as he gets out from under there!"_

The last she addressed to Puddles directly by ducking her head under the De-Atomizer and shouting. Commodore Puddles whimpered. Drakken clenched his fists and stepped forward.

"Shego! That's enough!"

His voice rang off the lab's steel-plated walls, and for a moment it seemed as if even the ever-present hum of the lab's idling computers and machines had been stunned into silence. Beneath the De-Atomizer, Shego jerked, then froze. After a beat she sat up, rested her fists on her thighs, and watched him warily.

"Shego, I don't care what Commodore Puddles took from you. That's no excuse to yell at him, or to swing things at him. He's an animal, he doesn't know any better."

Her jaw clenched and she looked away.

"Sorry," she said. She did sound _somewhat_ remorseful, even though she kept scowling at the shadows below the De-Atomizer.

He frowned at her a moment longer before nodding. "Apology accepted. Now then, let's see about getting him out of there."

He approached the De-Atomizer, then crouched down to peer below it. "Puddles, is that you under there? Did the mean lady scare you? Don't worry, daddy's here now. Come on out, boy."

Shego came to his side. "Um, Dr. D—"

"What?"

"I'd…rather you didn't, actually."

At that, he looked up. Shego was tugging at the hem of her t-shirt and watching him with a pleading look in her eyes. His brow furrowed and he shook his head.

"What are you talking about? I thought you wanted him to come out!"

"Well yeah, but— you know what, forget it. He'll wander out on his own eventually and I'll just get it back then—"

"Shego, you're being silly. He's right there and— look, see? Here he comes."

Indeed, the clicking of little claws on the tiles announced the emergence of something from the shadows of the De-Atomizer. Drakken beckoned and cooed encouragements until a little black nose eased out from beneath the machine and sniffed the air uncertainly.

"It's all right boy, you can come out. See? It's me, daddy."

He stuck his hand forward to let Commodore Puddles smell it. Thus comforted, Puddles pushed his whole snout into Drakken's palm, and Drakken raised his eyebrows at the flash of dark purple fabric between Puddles' teeth.

He cocked his head. "Puddles, what have you got there?"

"Dr. D, I'll—"

Puddles whimpered, deposited his prize in Drakken's hand, then wriggled out from beneath the De-Atomizer and bounded off. Bewildered, Drakken dangled the fabric between his fingers and realized that Puddles had left him holding a small, lacy pair of panties that were a bit lacier now thanks to Puddles' intervention: he'd eaten the crotch out of them, leaving only two thin strips of elastic to hold everything together.

Shego snatched the panties out of his hands before he could drop them in horror. She'd turned bright red, and she didn't look at him as she jammed the balled-up panties into her pocket.

"Look, just tell your stupid _animal_ to stay out of the laundry room!" She said before whirling around and storming out in a way that was just aggressive enough to not classify as "fleeing."

He scrubbed his fingers on his lab coat, then grimaced. Not in disgust at the item he'd just been handling, but in realization that his handling of said item— and Commodore Puddles' presumed destruction of it— guaranteed that while she might never discuss this incident again, she'd make sure he suffered for it.

Commodore Puddles wandered in again, tongue lolling and eyes bright. Drakken narrowed his eyes at him, but Puddles just trotted over and butted Drakken's arm with his snout, then blinked at him in wide, doggy innocence. Drakken managed to resist for two whole seconds before he relented and started scratching beneath Puddles' chin.

"I hope you're happy with yourself, boy," Drakken said. Puddles did look a little smug, if dogs were capable of such a thing. "I think we're both going to be spending some time in the dog house."


	3. What Was Missing

**Title:** What Was Missing  
**Characters/Pairing:** Drakken, Shego  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Summary**: Done for the FYCD prompt "Describe your favorite place in the whole wide universe using only sound, touch, and smell." As usual, I snatched the prompt and ran in a completely different direction.

* * *

The truth— and Shego would never admit it— was that while jet fuel bowled her over, chem labs lit her nose on fire, old sweat repelled her, and sugar cookies made her want to yak, on her boss those awful, many odors combined into something sharp, complex, and uniquely Dr. D. It was a smell that defied description in that it had form and meaning in Shego's mind alone, and her attempts to define it never seemed quite right. Not that she tried, of course. Not that she _liked _it or anything. It was just…there, one of the few constants in her hectic, mobile life. And as the months turned to years, the smell grew so familiar that she stopped noticing it at all.

Then came Diablo. Prison. Jailbreaks. Freedom from Drakken and his failures, for good this time. A life where she woke to waves crashing on jetties, not to intruder alerts. Where the callouses on her fingers and knuckles from years of combat wore down in soft, warm sand. Where her days were filled with sunscreen and margaritas, and her nights with laughter and dancing. And where the company she kept, while lacking in that certain evil flair, was agreeable enough, especially when the evening found her desiring companionship in a different context.

She was so certain she was happy that it took her three months to realize something was wrong.

She didn't know what it was, exactly. But over the course of several days she became aware of a vague, nagging unease that, if she was being honest with herself, had dogged her since the start of her vacation. She tried changing resorts, even countries, but her discontent remained both unshakable and inscrutable. Shego, being a direct sort of person, had never been a fan of puzzles, and this one was doing more than ruining her hard earned R&R— it was _demanding _things from her, like the reevaluation of everything she thought she wanted. It was a relief when the cheerleader showed up hurling bizarre accusations and violence in turn; though the notes were off, here was a rhythm Shego knew well, and her mind clung to its familiarity as a shield against the truths slouching out from the deepest, dustiest part of her mind.

But it was a weak defense at best, and it didn't last long. It was her own damned fault— against her better judgment she'd given in to her curiosity and gone to investigate Drakken's new partner, and as soon as she entered the lair a chorus of _wrong, wrong, wrong _started screaming through her skull. It wasn't just that the lair had become some gleaming chrome backdrop out of a sci-fi movie, or that Drakken's new partner had turned out to be a nine-foot-tall alien woman with the raw strength and power of an oncoming freight train. It wasn't even that Drakken had the audacity to put her in restraints and make her watch as he and this…_Warmonga _character drew closer to victory. No, there was a fundamental piece of this picture missing, something that made her ever present unease balloon into distress. Not that she showed it of course. Not that she _cared._

She kept not caring all the way back to Greece after her little misadventure was over. She kept not caring as she dined on whole roast pig in Hawaii, and as she sipped cream cocktails in South Africa. She kept not caring as she boarded a plane to Mexico, and as a subsequent series of puddle jumper flights bore her further into the Pacific. She kept not caring as her destinations grew so tiny that the planes became boats, the last of which she owned and so drove herself to the little island in the Ring of Fire where Drakken's main lair resided. She kept not caring when she discovered that Drakken had changed the door codes, and while she could have carved her way into the lair with her Glow, after a moment's hesitation she pressed the doorbell instead.

She'd arrived with a vision of how their reunion would go: he would rant and rave, she'd level a few accusations of her own, she'd deflect his rebuttals with a few smart jibes and an indifferent air, and in an hour she'd be perched in her favorite armchair while he rambled on about his latest and greatest disaster in the making. So when the lair door opened and there was no flame and fury, just Drakken staring her down with a single question written on his features—_why are you here?— _she didn't know how to react.

Something reached her, then, on the slight breeze that stirred Drakken's coat before shifting direction towards her. It was the smell of jet fuel and chemicals, of old sweat and sugar, and of a dozen other things with names too long or weird for her to remember. It was the smell woven through three years of defeats, of karaoke nights, and of evenings spent sprawled on the sofa watching _America's Got Skills_. It was what had been missing when she came here last, all trace of it no doubt erased by his months in prison. And in it she found the reason for the unease that had plagued her all that time.

She knew the answer to his question, now. But she couldn't say it out aloud. Not yet. Maybe never. So she launched into a rambling apology for everything that had happened since Diablo, or at least for all the things she was actually sorry about. She went on and on, filling the silence with words that circled but never touched the truth.

She'd come back because he smelled like home.


	4. One Door Closes

**Title:** One Door Closes  
**Characters/Pairing:** Drakken/Shego  
**Rating:** PG  
**Summary**: Done for the _Drakken/Shego Drabble Challenge_ prompt "Goodbye." If you're interested in participating in the challenge, there's a link to it on my profile page.

* * *

Drakken stood in the doorway and watched as Shego stuffed the last evidence of their life together into a worn cardboard box. Her back was to him, a small kindness in the moment, because that meant he wouldn't have to suffer the scorn in her eyes when she saw the misery in his.

And yet…

He couldn't let it end this way. Not in a bleak, empty room where the only sound between them was the crackle and rip of packing tape. He leaned his forehead against the door's astragal and picked at a loose bit of the rubber. He'd meant to have the entire strip replaced, but he'd never made the call. _Woulda, shoulda, coulda, _as Shego liked to say.

"It's really over, isn't it," he said.

She finished sealing the box, then she rested her palms on the edge of it. Without turning she said, "Looks like," before she hefted the box and stacked in the corner with the others. That was where she'd kept the floor mirror he'd bought her in Italy two years ago. He wondered what she was planning to do with it now.

Standing revealed her profile, and Drakken studied her face looking for fondness, regret, _anything. _But Shego was unreadable at the best of times and this…this wasn't the best of times. After a moment, perhaps sensing his scrutiny, she looked at him, and whatever she read in his features earned him a frustrated sigh. She swept her hair away from her face— there was a lot less of it to sweep since she'd cut it to her shoulders — and shook her head.

"Don't tell me you want to stay. It's a little late for that."

"I know that. But, Shego…won't you miss this?"

His voice was small and pleading, and he knew she hated that but he couldn't help it. They'd talked about this for hours and they'd agreed it was the best thing for both of them, but she couldn't expect him to just brush aside six years of memories, could she?

There was a slight stiffness to her shrug, or maybe that was wishful thinking. "You know me, Dr. D. I'm not sentimental."

With that, she returned to the center of the room and began throwing the tape and some other loose items in a shopping bag. He'd expected her answer, but that didn't mean it hurt any less. Sometimes he wondered how he'd come to love someone so, so— _mean._

"And _you_," Shego said, heading towards him with the shopping bag around her wrist, "quit being so melodramatic. Hench is paying us twice our asking price, and _you're _the one who was worried about whether or not we could afford blast shielding at the house."

"But Shego, this was _my lair! _Who knows what kind of riffraff Hench is going to rent it out to?"

She patted his arm. "There, there. I'm sure Dementor will take good care of it. Now come on, we've got dinner reservations at seven and we need to leave now if we want to make it to the mainland on time."

"Dementor! You aren't serious are you, Shego? Shego? Shego!"


	5. Ink

**Title:** Ink  
**Characters/Pairings:** Drakken/Shego  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Summary:** Done for the Drakken/Shego drabble challenge prompt "Tattoo." If you're interested in the challenge, there's a link to it on my profile page.

* * *

"When did you get _that?_"

Shego was seldom awestruck, and hearing said awe directed at him brought Drakken up short as he lifted his tank to scratch his side. "Get what? What is it?"

"On your back."

He was halfway through a twist to see what she was talking about before he squeezed his eyes shut and grimaced. There was only one thing she _could _be talking about. He'd mostly forgotten it was there. He set the box of pancake mix he was holding down on the counter, then sighed.

"In prison. Two years ago now. Three? I can't remember. In any case, I've had it for a while."

"_You _got tattooed in prison? Really?" She walked up to him, and over his protests she once more yanked up the hem of his tank to examine the tattoo. "I can't believe it."

He grunted. "It was a longer stint than usual, and the other inmates were being unfriendly. The man who did it suggested that if I got a tattoo, I'd earn some street cred and they'd leave me alone."

"It's…" She tilted her head. "A double helix?" She glanced up at him for confirmation; he nodded. "With thorns. And the guy told you this would earn you street cred?"

"I didn't have many options, all right? If you'd broken me out sooner, it wouldn't have been necessary!"

She pressed the side of her fist to her mouth too late to the hide the mirth on her lips. Scowling, he tugged his tank down and turned fully towards her, putting his back to the counter.

"You know, this is why I never showed it to you," he said, "I knew you were going to mock me!"

She shook her head, straightened, and fixed him with a skeptical look that remained even as she stepped close enough to slide her hands over his shoulders and rub his neck with her thumb. He sniffed and looked off to the side, refusing to give in to her attempt to soothe him. Even if it did feel nice.

"Dr. D, you know as well as I do that that thing's ridiculous."

He answered with a grumble. When she made no further comment, he peeked back to see her head cocked and a thoughtful look in her eye.

"What?" he asked. He leaned back slightly, as if to put physical distance between himself and whatever she was plotting. But that only made her smirk and start plucking at his apron strap.

"So…got any more?"

"What? Tattoos?"

She nodded.

"As if I'd show you!"

"_Do _you?"

He narrowed his eyes at her, but she just stared back in the closest she ever came to innocence. Finally, he sighed.

"There's one," he said. "I got it in college. It's…in a sensitive area. And I'm not going to show it to you!"

At "in a sensitive area," she made a noise of intrigue. "Even if I want to see it?" she asked.

"Why, so you can—"

He paused because her eyebrows had inched higher, and her fingers were rubbing a circle on the skin beneath his apron strap. A long-dormant yet recently re-awakened part of his brain pointed out that these were not the actions of someone who intended to tease him, at least not in the way he imagined. So he didn't resist at all when Shego, still smirking, used the apron strap to tug his head down and kiss him.


	6. Pep Talk

**Title:** Pep Talk  
**Characters/Pairing:** Drakken/Shego  
**Rating:** PG  
**Summary**: Done for the comment_fic prompt "sometimes constantly being thwarted gets him down."

* * *

When the karaoke start time at Carlito's comes and goes and Drakken's still sagging on the sofa watching _The South Shore_ and cramming Submarinos into his mouth, Shego knows it's time to intervene. Sure she could just go home and celebrate her unexpected reprieve from the ear-numbing torture that is three hours of amateur vocals, but she also wants to work on Monday, and experience says that if she doesn't snap him out of his funk now the only work she'll be doing next week is rolling him off the couch and into the gym to work off his body weight in snack cakes.

So she strolls into the TV area and plants herself between the sofa and the screen. Drakken narrows his eyebrows at once, but his expression lacks the usual heat her intrusiveness earns. Now it's her turn to frown. He's worse than she thought.

"Shego," he says, "I'm trying to watch this."

"Yeah, I know. That's why I'm standing here. It's kind of hard to pull off the whole 'evil genius' thing after you've fried your brain with this reality garbage."

"Pots and kettles, Shego."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I'm not the one saving _Clam Kings_ to the DVR."

She balls her fist. "All right fine, forget the show. The point is that you've been slouching around since yesterday, and it's time to get moving. Don't you have a Sonic-Neuro-whatever you can build? Or, ooh, we could steal something."

Dr. D's last few plans had all used his own inventions, which means she hasn't had a good smash and grab in weeks. Heck, if it gets him off the couch she might even consider stealing that advanced book copy he's been nagging her about, because apparently it was _just too good, Shego!_ for him to wait until its midnight release like all the other nerds.

With a heavy sigh he reaches for another Submarino. "What's the point? You know as well as I do what's going to happen."

She lunges forward, and he lets out a startled squawk as she snatches the wrapped Submarino out of his hand. For good measure she picks up the box of them as well, then incinerates both with her Glow.

"Shego!"

Drakken clambers up with sparks in his eyes. Good. She levels a still-Glowing finger at him, and is rewarded with his wide-eyed attention.

"I know what's _not_ gonna happen," she says, "you're not gonna give up just because Kimmie and her little boyfriend did what they always do. All that means is you have to be better. Are you telling me you really can't outsmart a couple of teenagers and a rat?"

"Of course I can!"

He thumps his fists on the sofa cushion for emphasis, sending an avalanche of cake crumbs down his sweatshirt and onto the cushions and floor. She starts to slap her forehead, but restrains herself.

"All right then," she says, "prove it." She points to his work area at the other end of the space. "Get over there and come up with a plan to pop all the corn in Iowa, or to unleash a plague of panda bears, or, I don't know, whatever. Just have it ready when I come in on Monday, because I'm going home."

He leaps to his feet as she passes the end of the sofa on her way to the door.

"Corn! That's brilliant, Shego! I'll threaten to destroy the entire corn belt unless the world's governments bow to my demands. And as for Kim Possible, well, she's going to have quite the surprise when she faces my— my— butter canon!"

This time when the urge to slap her forehead arises, she indulges.


	7. The Cold Shoulder

**Title:** The Cold Shoulder  
**Characters/Pairings:** Drakken/Shego  
**Rating:** PG  
**Summary:** _Fill for the prompt, "She's usually a blazing forest fire of destruction, but sometimes she's just a beautiful warmth." As usual, this was not the fill I set out to write but it's the one I ended up with._

* * *

With the lair a pillar of black smoke on the horizon, their escape craft dead in the midst of the frozen tundra, and the cabin temperature sinking by the minute, Drakken was ready to admit that setting another plan in the arctic had probably been a mistake. He was also ready to admit that it was time to spring for better henchmen, or at least ones who weren't stupid enough to fill an antifreeze tank with water. What he was_ not_ ready to do was to say any of this aloud, because Shego had only just stopped trying to fillet him with her claws in favor of doing so with her eyes, which was all he could see of her since she'd swaddled herself in the ship's only emergency blanket. At the time giving her the blanket had seemed like a small sacrifice in exchange for emerging from their predicament with his vital organs intact. Now, with his breath turning into little clouds and the air leeching the warmth from his fingers and toes, losing a kidney or two seemed like a much more attractive option.

He pulled his knees to his chest and rocked back in forth in a short arc, trying to stir up the blood flow through his body. Shego made an explosive, exasperated sound and he stopped at once, then watched as she kicked her legs out of her cocoon, stood, and stalked towards him. He pulled his knees tighter and scooted back towards the wall as if the cold metal would offer him some sort of protection against his sidekick's wrath. But instead of attacking him she just loomed over him, glaring, with the blanket wrapped around her shoulders and trailing down the floor behind her. She jabbed her finger forwards, making him flinch, and then he realized that she was only pointing to a spot a little to his left.

"Move over," she said.

He glanced at the spot and wondered if she'd booby trapped the floor without him knowing. "Why?"

"Do it!"

"Fine," he said. He patted down the spot, and when no spikes burst from the floor he shifted over. He patted down the spot, and when no spikes burst from the floor he shifted over. Shego rolled her eyes, then swept the trail of the blanket around and plopped down next to him. Before he could say anything, she grabbed an edge of the blanket and flung it in his general direction. It crashed into his face, and he spluttered and flailed until he'd swatted most of it behind his back.

"Oh yes, throwing things, very mature."

A muscle twitched in her jaw. "You wanna freeze to death waiting for VUA?"

"Well of course not—" He looked at the blanket. "Oh."

"So put it on, and put a cork in it."

After that, she didn't acknowledge him beyond little movements to accommodate his effort to wrap himself up. As he tucked his hand into the blanket's folds he glanced at his watch. By the service rep's estimate, their tow craft wouldn't be here for three hours.

He risked a glance at Shego. The long, taut lines of her profile hadn't eased. He cleared his throat and put on a smile. "You know, this could be a funny story to tell at the next villain convention—"

_"Cork,"_ she said, and he shut his mouth so fast that his teeth clicked.

It was going to be a _long_ three hours.


End file.
